Aoraki

Charge the Amethyst under
The pale blue moon.
Divide my crackling bones into
Pieces of handwritten letter.
And dust our elder's memorabilia
That we traced up in the attics.

We have forty years to talk about
Our lonely mountains, and ashy hearts.
Dribbling sunrise into starlight
In front of the wintering porch from the coldest field in a fictional work.

We have million paths to go;
No more weapons,
No more disclosure to the fragments of our weary fingers.
It's getting harder to choose in this misty light of amber.

We have a little less to frown;
Braided leaves struck your feet before you drown,
Blood red vine into our lungs,
It's getting easier to breathe this time around.